Then the door was flung open.  Philip knew that it was the master of Adare House who stood on the threshold—­a great, fur-capped giant of a man who seemed to stoop to enter, and in whose eyes as they met Philip’s there was a wild and half-savage inquiry.  Such a man Philip had not expected to see; awesome in his bulk, a Thorlike god of the forests, gray-bearded, deep-chested, with shaggy hair falling out from under his cap, and in whose eyes there was the glare which Philip understood and which he met unflinchingly.

For a moment he felt Josephine’s fingers grip tighter about his own; then with a low cry she broke from him, and John Adare opened his arms to her and crushed his bearded face down to hers as her arms encircled his neck.  In the gloom of the hall beyond them there appeared for an instant the thin, dark face of Jean Jacques Croisset.  In a flash it had come and gone.  In that flash the half-breed’s eyes had met Philip’s, and in them was a look that made the latter take a quick step forward.  His impulse was to pass John Adare and confront Jean in the hall.  He held himself back, and looked at Josephine and her father.  She had pushed the cap from the giant’s head and had taken his bearded face between her two hands, and John Adare was smiling down into her white, pleading face with the gentleness and worship of a woman.  In a moment he broke forth into a great rumbling laugh, and looked over her head at Philip.

“God bless my soul, if I don’t almost believe my little girl thought I was coming home to murder her!” he cried.  “I guess she thought I’d hate you for stealing her away from me the way you did.  I have contemplated disliking you, quite seriously, too.  But you’re not the sort of looking chap I thought you’d be with that oily French name.  You’ve shown good judgment.  There isn’t a man in the world good enough for my Jo.  And if you’ll excuse my frankness, I like your looks!”

As he spoke he held out a hand, and Josephine eagerly faced Philip.  A flush grew in her cheeks as the two men shook hands.  Her eyes were on Philip, and her heart beat a little quicker.  She had not hoped that he would rise to the situation so completely.  She had feared that there would be some betrayal in voice or action.  But he was completely master of himself, and the colour in her face deepened beautifully.  Before this moment she had not wholly perceived how splendidly clear and fearless were his eyes.  His long blond hair, touched with its premature gray, was still windblown from his rush out into the night, giving to his head a touch of leonine strength as he faced her father.